Nothing Important Happened Today
by FBI Bones
Summary: She’d been counting on forever, forever meant she didn’t have to contemplate the now; but forever’s gone and for all that she’s still here, the now may as well be gone too. CC.
1. A Sense of Normalcy

_Disclaimer: House isn't mine._

_Summary: She'd been counting on forever, forever m__eant she didn't have to contemplate the now; but forever's gone and for all that she's still here, the now may as well be gone too._

_Author's Notes: This got stuck in my head and even though I tried to ignore it, it wouldn't go away – believe me I tried because I have a list of fictions to write/update that fill an A4 sheet of paper but nevertheless here it is… be nice please :P It's probably a really stupid idea but I figured I had nothing to lose by posting it… it gets off to a slow start so bare with me lol. All the medical conditions are from researching on google... also note I'm new to this fandom and to top it off when I put it up it went wrong and I had to take it down again to sort it out title etc.. confusing, anyways, read on if you will, review if you please though it may be better for you to wait for later chapters before drawing a substantiated conclusion :P_

_Warning: If any of you have read my profile you'll know that the word 'warning' is as much of a warning as I'll give 'coz I hate spoiling the story by saying what happens. 'Warning' is just a little caution that something bad is likely to happen._

Chapter 1: A Sense of Normalcy

"Lupus," Cameron said for what must be the hundredth time since starting the case.

"It's not lupus," House dismissed her idea yet again without even looking at her, studying the whiteboard full of symptoms with critical blue eyes, he leant heavily on his cane, flexing his fingers as he shifted to face his team, "give me something else,"

"Lupus fits!" Foreman exclaimed disbelievingly, he pushed himself from his seat and strode over to the board; he could feel his boss' gaze burning into the back of his head as he pointed at each of the scrawled symptoms "chest pain, tachycardia, shortness of breath, fever, kidney failure… it's all _there_!"

House's eyes narrowed as he observed the neurologist and the whiteboard "it's not lupus!" he practically shouted to counter the other man.

"Then what is it?" Cameron asked, fed up with his constant expecting them to come up with an answer but not contributing himself.

His eyes flicked across the board but his usually quick mind could come up with nothing to explain the cause of their patient's symptoms. It wasn't lupus, they'd already tried treating that and it hadn't worked; something else was wrong but he'd hit a mental block and couldn't conjure up another cause and if they didn't come up with something soon then the woman would be lucky to see the end of the week "where's Chase?"

Foreman rolled his eyes and sighed, retaking his seat and looking thoroughly fed up as Cameron stuttered for a response.

"He's in the ER, there was a bus crash and-"

"He should be _here,"_ the caustic doctor stamped his cane onto the floor in a display that looked almost petulant but the two members of his team that were present were aware that it was in frustration that he couldn't solve the puzzle not that the fair-haired Australian was undertaking duties that he would not normally perform on a day-to-day basis.

"We could page him," Foreman was eager to get the attention back on their patient and if that meant drifting momentarily to get House back on track then so be it; her kidneys were about four hours from giving out and when they did, even if they got on her dialysis, her time after that would be limited.

House had already snatched the patient's file from the table and was leaving the conference room; going into his office, he disappeared from sight a moment later.

"Where's he going?" Cameron got to her feet.

Foreman shook his head in exasperation "I'm gonna go do another LP,"

* * *

James Wilson sighed as he glanced up and saw his friend standing out on the balcony, staring pointedly through the glass doors. He smiled gently at the leukaemia patient in front of him "excuse me," he said as he got to his feet and let himself out of his office, shutting the door behind him as he went on to the balcony.

"What do you want House?"

"I need a second opinion,"

He sighed, something he found himself doing frequently when in the presence of the diagnostician "I'm with a patient;" he pointed out "can't this wait?"

House frowned and peered into the room, the woman turned in her seat as she felt someone looking at her and his eyes darted away the moment she saw him "is she dying?"

Wilson felt a bizarre sense of déjà vu fly over him but he ignored it, it was still inappropriate, no matter whether he'd heard it before or not "yes," he answered, because most of his patients were; he was an oncologist, of _course_ they were dying.

House's expression was mocking "and you just left her? Wilson I'm shocked,"

The other doctor put his hands on his hips and after a glance back inside his office to check on his patient he turned back to his friend and gave him a pointed look.

Deciding that engaging in a staring contest would be a pointless waste of his time, House limped over to the wall and looked vaguely down onto the sidewalk below, waiting just long enough for Wilson to take a step back towards his office and the terminally ill girl waiting in there, he turned and tossed the file at his friend "Cameron thinks it's lupus,"

Wilson gave him a critical look but sighed and shook his head as if to clear it "it fits the symptoms,"

"It's not lupus,"

He sighed "then what is it?"

There was no reply.

"Fine," he continued "could be… myocarditis; you've run blood cultures?"

House gave him a potent look, that said – in more ways than one – _of course you moron._

"What about pneumonia, kidney failure brought on by a secondary infection she contracted in the hospital…" his eyes darted over the page "seizures could be a reaction to the meds-"

"Chase isn't working the differential,"

The oncologist was growing rapidly more impatient "where is he?" he asked, pretending to be interested as he folded his arms across his chest. He caught sight of the girl in his office; she was glancing intermittently at the duo on the balcony and when she wasn't she was checking her watch, he opened the door "I'm really sorry Linda, I'll be with you as soon as I can,"

Linda nodded and smiled at her doctor as he closed the door again.

"He's in the ER," House was back to observing the people wandering along the sidewalk with his usual air of cool indifference.

"There was a bus crash this morning – they're short staffed," his hands dropped to his sides "what's this about?"

House said nothing.

Then it dawned on him "you're pissed because he didn't tell you first!" he exclaimed "House, he's an intensivist, it's his job!" so the fact that Chase was an intensivist generally meant he would work in the ICU when he wasn't in diagnostics, but that wasn't the point; House still had no need to get so righteous over the whole thing.

"He works for me,"

"He works for the hospital," Wilson scoffed "are you really that annoyed that he's working in the ER that you decided to come bother me? You have two more, brilliant doctors, in your office; ask them," he gestured with the file to House's office "if you're that desperate that Chase help, page him," he all but threw the patient file back at his friend before going back into his office.

House observed the smooth transition from overly exaggerated, annoyed friend to caring doctor as the oncologist stepped over the threshold with a cool eye. It wasn't so much that it was Chase in particular who was missing but the fact that any one of his team was absent – _without telling him _– from the running of the differential. Although, he pondered as he limped back to his office, chances are the Australian would have just made puppy dog eyes at Cameron the whole time and agreed with everything she'd said if he'd been there, so instead of having two annoying voices saying precisely what the patient _didn't _have, House would have had three.

* * *

"Hug your knees to your chest for me," Foreman said as gently as he could, smiling minutely at the patient; he really was getting as bad as House… what was her name? Paula? Phillipa? Patricia? "That's it," he tried for encouragement as he caught sight of the little girl sat on the chair in the corner, she couldn't have been more than five, he thought, as she hugged an over-sized stuffed rabbit to her chest.

"Hey," the woman said, reaching out for her daughter and the girl came scampering across the floor.

Foreman took a calming breath as he pulled the needle back just millimetres away from piercing the patient's spinal cord; if he'd already withdrawing the fluid when she'd moved "you need to stay still for me," he said, glancing pointedly at the nurse who was helping the woman keep herself steady.

"Sorry," the woman answered, then to her daughter "its okay Amber," she coaxed "mommy's just fine,"

"This might hurt a little," he warned her.

"Haven't we already done this?" she sounded somewhat impatient and her voice was laced with the unforgettable notes of pain.

"The results last time weren't conclusive," he said, as he pierced the skin of the lower back, the needle sliding between the vertebrae and spinal fluid slowing dribbling into the canister.

"Is mommy gonna be okay?" Amber said, fixing big, wide eyes on the black man.

Momentarily taken aback by the question Foreman nodded as he withdrew the needle, immediately placing a cotton bud on the lightly bleeding wound to… whatever her name was' back, "you're mom's very sick,"

"I'll be fine sweetie," she assured her, reaching for the girl's face and stroking back some of the red curls that framed her round little face "mommy's going to be fine… why don't you go down the hall with the nurse and get some candy from the machine?" she glanced at the nurse to check that it was okay before she gestured for her bag and the child passed it.

Amber took the money she was given and looked at Foreman for confirmation that her mother really was going to be 'fine'.

Foreman nodded, almost biting his tongue to correct that statement as he and the nurse helped the woman get comfortable again.

"You need to take it easy for a few hours Mrs Bishop," the nurse advised before leading Amber from the room.

"Am I ever going to meet Doctor House?"

The question every patient asked, Foreman nearly smiled at the regularity of it.

"Doctor House is… he's a very busy man," and still, he lies for him, Foreman wanted to kick himself, House wasn't that busy, he was probably lounging in the chair behind his desk watching the latest episode of General Hospital and bouncing that infernal ball on the handle of his cane; certainly not too busy – by anyone's standards, save for maybe his own – to visit a dying patient.

The woman snorted derisively, the motion causing her to cough and as a result, her chest to hurt.

"Look, Penny-"

"Judy," the woman glared at him and even though she was pale and sweating, her eyes sunken and hovering over the shadows that marred the delicate skin beneath them she still looked suitable angry "my name is Judy,"

"Judy, sorry," damn, he used to be good at this, remembering names, he never used to forget or – and he really hoped that this wasn't the case – not bother to find out what they were, "Judy, you're very sick; is there anyone who could look after Amber if…"

"If what?" Judy glared at him "if I don't make it? Is that what you're saying?"

Foreman shifted uncomfortably.

"Listen to me, that little girl has no one but me left. Her father died in a car accident three years ago, I'm a single mom…" she trailed off and her breathing grew heavier, measured but she bats his hand away when he goes to listen to her chest "you need to find out what's wrong with me," she stared at him for a moment, determined to get her point across. "I don't care how busy Doctor House is; he'll be the one who has to look my little girl in the eye and tell her that her mom's not coming back if I don't male it,"

She sounded obnoxious but the years he had spent working in the medical industry told him that it was fear that made her sound so direct and wasn't necessarily an indicator of who she felt in regards to him personally that she was being so… well _rude_ wasn't the word…

* * *

"What did Wilson say?" Cameron said without even looking up from her microscope.

He raised his eyebrows, he wasn't taken aback that she knew him so well, it just irked him that she did it with more finesse than any one else had every shown. He paused in the doorway to the lab, saying nothing until she finally raised her head, casually tossing her hair back over her shoulder, the dark curls cascading from the ponytail and spilling down her back; contrasting sharply with the white of her lab coat.

House stepped into the room fully, taking the bottle from his pocket and popping a couple of Vicodin with one hand, he went to swallow them dry like he normally did but caught sight of Cameron's mug of coffee and helped himself to a mouthful, smirking when she gave him an affronted look, "he thinks its cancer," he deadpanned.

Cameron rolled her eyes because he hadn't even made the effort to sound genuine and if it was meant to be a joke it wasn't funny, she went back to looking through her microscope, changing the resolution and shifting the slide slightly as she did so.

A moment later the silence was broken when House announced loudly "Lupus,"

She straightened up again "you said it wasn't-"

"That was Wilson's first thought, and yours and Foreman's" he sat on her desk, looking down at her and smirking at the semi-patient expression that was flickering across her face "we may as well add wombat-boy to the list as well because if he'd actually decided to show up today then he'd have agreed with you,"

"Chase is working in the ER!" she found herself defending her co-worker.

House twirled his cane between his hands, watching the movement with a strange sort of curiosity "which leaves us with two choices," he stopped fidgeting and looked at her intensely "either you're all inexplicably right and it _is_ lupus," he half-jumped from the desk, landing mostly on his good leg as he shifted his weight to accommodate his cane "or _I'm_ right and it's not," he finished, limping out of the labs again.

* * *

"It's not lupus," Foreman put his hands in his pockets as he stood next to the table House and Wilson were eating at.

"Told you," House remarked childishly, pointing at Wilson with his fork before digging back into his lunch.

"Second LP came back negative,"

"She has myocarditis," Cameron said breathlessly as she joined them "blood cultures were positive for coxsackievirus B,"

"I said that," Wilson pointed out despite the fact his mouth was full.

House ignored him "start her on a course of antibiotics," he instructed and as both Foreman and Cameron went for their bleeping pagers he added; "and get her on ACE inhibitors,"

Both doctors looked at each other quizzically before rushing back to their patient.

_Author's Notes: This is getting off to a really slow start – maybe I'm just getting used to the characters - but I hope it hasn't bored you too much :D review if you liked it, don't if you didn't (I don't appreciate flames, I don't think there's anything more pointless :P)_


	2. First Response

_Author's Notes: Hopefully we'll get somewhere this chapter! I really shouldn't be writing this... its 1AM and I have to be up in six and a half hours for school… ahh well :P_

Chapter 2: First Response

The ER was noisy; bleary cries and heart-wrenching screams from the patients and automated, frantic calls from doctors and nurses as they attempted to treat the worst of the injuries the crash victims had sustained; leaving minor lacerations and bruises to be dealt with later. Chase blew his hair from in front of his eyes before moving into the next cubicle; donning a new pair of latex gloves and smiling a little at the man laid in the bed.

"Hey," he greeted, somewhat relieved to be treating someone who was conscious "I'm Doctor Chase,"

"Luke Anthony," the man replied, swallowing "God my leg hurts," he gripped his thigh with his right hand; the material of his chinos crumpling beneath his fingers and Chase's eyes followed further down until they reached the blood soaked area of fabric.

"I'm gonna have to cut these off," he informed Luke, picking up a pair of scissors and moving to the foot of the bed.

Luke looked like he was going to protest but it seemed another jolt of pain hit him and he nodded, biting his bottom lip until it went white "whatever you need," he muttered.

Chase nodded and started cutting up the pant leg, pulling the table closer to him and traded the scissors for gauze and alcohol, the silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable as it allowed him to work methodically through cleaning and suturing the lesion without having to think up idle questions and even idler answers. He looked up sharply when the curtain was flung back and Luke jerked in indignation at the interruption, despite the fact he was more than decent.

"Doctor Chase," the nurse was new, flustered and her flyaway hair looking crazier than normal "there's a woman in the hall – she's just started convulsing!"

Sparing a brief glance for his current patient as he tore off his gloves and tossed them aside, he satisfied himself that Luke Anthony would be okay in the hands of the nursing staff he hurried to the hall, immediately identifying the aforementioned woman; two nurses already trying to hold her steady but she was flailing so much it was a nigh on impossible feat. He lurched to help, pulling a penlight from his pocket and shining it into the woman's eyes "get me five milligrams of diazepam!" he called out, putting his hands on the woman's violently shaking shoulders as one of the nurses relinquished their hold to retrieve the syringe and needle.

Swabbing the inside of the woman's elbow he injected the fluid straight into the vein and a moment later the seizure stopped. The nurses released the woman and Chase stepped back, pulling his penlight out again and checking the patient's pupil dilation before skimming over the rest of her battered body for any obvious causes for the seizure.

Blood seeped steadily through the flimsy material of her powder-blue shirt, staining it scarlet; her pants were covered in dust and small pieces of debris clung to her hair, smoke and dirt smudged her skin and clothes. Unbuttoning the woman's shirt, the source of the blood became clear; a piece of metal was lodged into her side, just between the fifth and sixth rib and judging from the swelling that had already sprung to fruition and the amount of blood, it was likely to be a deep wound.

"Get her prepped for theatre," he instructed.

* * *

Cameron took a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding as she took in the ECG reading and watched Judy's systolic and diastolic pressure readings begin climbing again. The beeping that represented the steady beating of their patient's heart was a relief that loosened the iron hands that had gripped her chest at the prospect of losing Judy.

"We got a pulse," Foreman stated, eyes flicking across the monitor as Cameron replaced the panels on the crash cart.

There was a rapping on the door and Cameron glanced over at the large glass panels as Foreman continued to stabilise Judy; the little girl who'd been standing vigil over her mother was pressed right up against the door; the hand that was not clutching the rather bedraggled looking rabbit was stretched wide and flat against the glass. The nurse who was supervising the child was stood behind her, and from what Cameron could gather, she was trying to explain to Amber that she couldn't go and see her mom just yet.

"House knew that was gonna happen," Foreman said, as the door slid open and another nurse came in carrying the IV bags with the new medication.

"But I want to see mommy!" they heard Amber cry and Cameron saw her stamp her foot "why can't I see mommy?"

The nurse who had delivered the IV fluids, left again, sliding the door shut once more and the one keeping Amber occupied preventing the child from slipping through.

"He's… House," Cameron explained "he just knows things like that,"

Foreman raised an eyebrow at his colleague as he began transferring Judy onto the ACE inhibitors and antibiotics "how?"

Cameron shrugged, deflecting the question "I paged Chase,"

"So did I," he answered simply.

Anything else Cameron wanted to say was interrupted by the door once more sliding open, however this time at a much slower pace as the person opening it was shorter than the handle and therefore having to stand on the tips of her toes and throw her weight against it to even get it to move in the slightest.

"Mommy!" Amber cried, rushing for the bed.

"Hey," Cameron intercepted the girl and crouched in front of her "your mom…" she glanced up at Foreman whose expression remained entirely neutral and therefore unhelpful, looking back at the child she gave her an encouraging smile "she's very sick and…" she could _not _tell a five-year-old girl that her mother's heart had just stopped "you need to be really gentle with her for a little while okay?"

Amber nodded "can I touch her?" she asked as if she thought her mother would crack like china should anything come into contact with her.

"You can hold her hand," Cameron stood up and took Amber's hand, leading her around the bed to the side and hauling a chair over so Amber could sit down, once seated the red-headed little girl reached out and tentatively touched her mother's hand.

"You've gotta sit quietly though Amber," Foreman said calmly, plucking his pager from his pocket as Cameron looked at hers, their boss' name flashing on screen.

Amber nodded "I know,"

"Will you be okay here?" the Cameron asked.

"Uh-huh," the child replied.

"I'll keep an eye on her," the nurse assured the immunologist as the two doctors left the room.

* * *

His pager beeped and he unhooked it from his belt, glancing at the screen and seeing it was from Foreman he sighed and replaced it; he didn't have time to call the neurologist, chances are the only reason for the page was to get him back up to diagnostics so House could chew him out for not being there.

"Doctor!" a teenage boy said, there was a nasty looking gash on his forehead, blood caked the side of his face as the eyebrow had deflected its path straight into the eye, for the most part it looked dry but whether the wound was still bleeding or whether sweat was simply making it look wet Chase didn't know "have you see my girlfriend?"

"We need to get you looked at," Chase said, taking the boy's elbow and guiding him into a cubicle.

The boy wrenched out of his grasp "have you seen my girlfriend?" he demanded again.

Pushing the boy to sit back on the bed, Chase put on yet another pair of gloves and went to examine the laceration on the teenager's head "let's get this sorted out and then-"

The kid jerked back "have you _seen_ her?" he repeated.

"Hey, easy," the Australian rebuked him softly and the teenager sat back down again, obviously feeling suitably foolish but the doctor did not fail to notice how tense the boy was as he somewhat reluctantly allowed his injuries to be addressed "what does your girlfriend look like?" Chase asked after a moment.

"Short… well not really, like, same height as me, almost… five-four maybe? Light brown hair with purple highlights in it… long, sort of down here," he gestured on his arm "she's…" he hesitated, as if unsure how to word the next part "well plump… have you seen her?"

"Was she on the bus?" he ignored the flinch the teenager gave when antiseptic was pressed against his head, particularly when the boy tried to shrug it off.

"We both were, fourth row from the back,"

"I need you to hold still for me," Chase said kindly, attempting to apply butterfly-strips to the injury but missing when the boy moved his head.

"Sorry," he mumbled "I just need to find Casey,"

"That your girlfriend's name?"

The boy nodded and looked suitably abashed when Chase gave him a pointed look and the teen stilled and allowed the doctor to finish applying the strips. Pulling his penlight out again he shone it into the teenager's eyes "pupils are slightly dilated. Are you feeling dizzy at all? Light headed?"

"A little,"

"What about nausea? Any discomfort?"

He shook his head then winced as it sent a throbbing pain behind his eyes.

"You've got a bit of a concussion. I'll send a nurse in with some painkillers; you just need to take it easy for a few hours-"

"I need to find Casey!" he leapt to his feet.

"Look…" he trailed off, realising he didn't know the teenager's name.

"Danny," he supplied shortly.

"Danny, you need to stay here,"

Danny glared at him.

"I'll see if I can find Casey," the blonde man conceded "but you need to stay here and keep calm,"

Seeing no other feasible option Danny nodded, and rolled his eyes when Chase refused to leave until the teen was sat back on the bed.

* * *

"Chase is in the ER," House stated, walking into Cuddy's office without even bothering to knock, as usual.

The administrator glowered at him and then spoke into her phone "I'm going to have to call you back," she apologised to the recipient of the call before replacing the handset "House…" she started but he cut her off.

"He didn't tell me he was going to be working there today,"

Cuddy got to her feet, her heels clipping on the floor as she moved around her desk "that's because he didn't know until he got in this morning," she walked passed him and pushed open her office door, walking straight out into the clinic and over to the nurse's station.

"You assigned him there," he accused.

"Yes," she answered shortly, skimming through the file she picked up "because there was an accident and they're short staffed,"

"He's on my team,"

Walking away, file in hand she threw back over her shoulder; "grow up House," before disappearing behind the door of an examination room.

* * *

The doors of the ER smashed open yet again; the gurney came hurtling through, wheels rattling as two paramedics brought it to a halt near another free bed.

"Severe lacerations on the chest, arms and torso, suspected broken ribs four through seven on the left, nine and ten on the right. Oxygen administered en route due to respiratory arrest in the ambulance," the paramedic reported as Chase approached, another doctor moving over to the second crash-victim who had just arrived; for victims to be arriving this long after the accident it meant that it had been far worse than most had imagined.

"Let's move her across,"

The two paramedics and a nurse helped Chase lift the girl in the sheet over to the bed; the paramedics departing soon after.

The girl looked about sixteen, and it only took a moment for him to pick out the most distinguishing feature about the teenager as a heart monitor was rigged up and the steady beeping floated from the machine. Her purple-streaked hair was matted with blood, her head held steady by the neck brace the paramedics had secured her in. Not a moment later the ECG emitted a shrill tone.

"She's in de-fib!" Chase called out, plunging the epi-needle into a vein and injecting it; he picked up the panels from the cart that was rushed over "charging one-eighty… clear!"

The girl's body jerked with the electrical surge that shot through her chest.

"That's Casey!" Danny's voice rang out above the rest as he ran over to the bed holding his girlfriend.

Shaking his head when he saw that the line was still flat Chase flicked the defibrillator up "charging two-fifty… Danny get out of the way," when Danny didn't move Chase added "get him back!" the panels once more made contact with Casey's chest.

Danny allowed the nurse to tug him out of the way after a moment's struggle, watching in numb horror as Casey's body jumped again but the line on the ECG remained determinately flat.

"Again," Chase stated, giving the panels a second to recharge before pressing them back against Casey's chest, the rhythmic beeping of the machine once more demonstrated the beating of the teenage girls' heart; he heard Danny let loose a breath somewhere behind him.

Casey's blood pressure slowly rose to more satisfactory levels over the course of the following few minutes, Danny watching from the sidelines despite his previous attempts to all but climb over the nurse holding him back. The paramedics had already gone back outside, the patient the regular ER doctor was tending too was conscious, and in subsequently better condition, at least aesthetically, than Casey; there was no telling what internal injuries the other crash-victim had sustained.

The doors crashed open again and heads whipped around to find out the source of the noise because even when gurneys came hurtling through at breakneck speed the doors didn't bounce off the walls like that.

"Nobody moves!"

"Excuse me," another attending ER doctor said, emerging from a cubicle "what's-"

"I said," and the figure raised his arm, the light glinting in a horrifyingly clichéd manner off the barrel of the 9mm in his hand "nobody, move,"

_Author's Notes: That is such a huge cliché I'm cringing as I write it… anyway same as last time; review if you liked it, don't if you didn't._


	3. Balance

_Author's Notes: Well here's another chapter… I'm still not sure how well I'm writing the characters 'coz I'm not really thinking about it, just doing it so they're as good as writing themselves :P Hopefully it's not __too__ bad…_

Chapter 3: Balance

The man was tall, well built and muscular; his eyes bright green and darting from person to person in a manner far from crazed. Every movement was measured. Every breath calculated. His hair was cropped and dark and gravity-defying, flecked with grey. His jaw was sharp and angular as the muscles twitched in anticipation. His clothes were baggy and oddly misshapen, his sneakers so caked in mud their true colour could not be distinguished.

The ER was suddenly eerily quiet; the steady beeping of various heart monitors were out of synch with one another, causing the noise to sound as if one person's heart was racing. The laboured breaths of those crash victims still conscious matched the shocked intakes of air that the attending doctors and nurses took. In another situation, another time, another place it would have been comical, clichéd, _unreal_.

"Nobody moves!" the man shouted again as the silence that had rushed across the ER came to a staggering halt, whimpers, cries and shrieks of horror echoing off the walls as the shock faded and fear set in.

The 9mm clicked as it was cocked, the sound absurdly loud despite the ruckus that had broken out in the thirty seconds that followed the man's entrance. As if panicked by the melee, the man seized a nearby woman, her face scratched and her left hand bandaged; he put the gun against her head.

"Quiet!" he roared, his left arm locked across the woman's chest, her hands clutching at his arm in a grip that was subsequently weaker due to her injury "I swear to God I'll do it, I shoot her brains out!"

"Please…" the woman begged, salty tears streaming down her face "please… let me go…"

The barrel of the gun pressed against her temple, the cold metal biting her skin as his finger curled around the trigger, her eyes closed, sobs catching in her throat as she tried to obey the unspoken order to shut up.

* * *

"It's not myocarditis," House said, snapping off the latex gloves and throwing them in the trash as he pushed the chair he was sat on over to the side, and reaching for the prescription forms and a pen.

"She's getting better," Foreman argued glancing at the man sat on the bed apologetically; running a differential in the clinic, as House treated another patient was a little uncomfortable but certainly not the worst thing his boss had made him do.

"She's getting _worse_," House corrected, signing the prescription and tearing it from the pad, handing it to the man who took it cautiously, shooting Cameron an odd look, and exiting the room with far more haste than was necessary.

"The seizures have stopped," Cameron pointed out "and she hasn't had another heart attack since we put her on ACE inhibitors,"

"The fact the patient's no longer seizing means that she doesn't have lupus, it doesn't mean she's getting better," he stood up, limping over to where he'd left his cane and picked it up.

Cameron and Foreman spared a look for one another before following House from the exam room, "and the ACE inhibitors?" Foreman pointed out.

"Are used to treat all sorts of cardiovascular disorders," the diagnostician replied, hitting the button to call for the elevator with his cane "it means we have another symptom," he smirked cryptically as he stepped inside the elevator without them, and the doors slid close.

* * *

Chase's eyes were wide, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched the woman all but curl in on herself, trying to make herself as small as possible without actually moving, her breaths were short and uneven, her whole body tense so as not to startle her captor into accidentally shooting her. A new beeping joined the others, and he glanced at the monitor next to Casey's bed, swallowing and glancing back at the armed man ten feet from them he moved to help her but the gun-toting maniac caught sight of him.

"Hey!" he cried out "are you deaf? I said _nobody move_,"

Chase found his mouth was dry as he went to answer and his hands were shaking as he resisted the overwhelming urge, the ingrained _response_ to help the girl lying on the gurney in front of him; she was going into respiratory arrest, "I need to intubate," he said in a voice far calmer than he thought possible "if I-"

The man hesitated for a second and in that second it felt like the whole world had stopped. Chase couldn't just lunge forward and help the girl because that meant the woman in the maniac's arms would get shot, and Chase couldn't be responsible for that but in the same instance, he couldn't just stand uselessly by a patient's side as she suffocated when he knew he could help her. The man gave a barely unperceivable nod in the Australian's direction and letting loose a breath he hadn't realised he was holding Chase stepped up, gesturing for two nurses to help him get the tube down Casey's throat.

The whole room was silent again, no noise drifted down from other corridors as Chase found himself performing the most meticulous intubation procedure he'd done since med school; thinking cautiously about each step, wary of every eye in the room being on his hands as they ensured that Casey was breathing again, her lungs now relying on a machine to function properly, his own breaths deep and supposedly-calming as he tried to ignore the rapid thump-thump-thump in his chest.

"Done?" the man snapped when the movements weren't so hasty and the commands no longer being uttered.

"Not quite," his voice was much quieter than he had intended but it was pointless trying to correct it, startled back into continuing, doing what he wasn't entirely sure because it was done, Casey had been saved – for now – but he just didn't want to be stood there watching uselessly as… pretending to be checking some switches on the machine next to Casey's bed he slipped his hand to his belt, trying to be as discreet as possible.

No sooner had his fingers closed around smooth plastic casing of his pager than there was a cry from behind him, the sound of a scuffle and an arm slammed across his throat, crushing his windpipe in a brutal grip.

"Nuh-uh-uh," the man's voice leered in his ear, Chase felt the cruel metal of the gun press against his jaw, forcing his head up "hands out of the way,"

Obeying the instruction because he could see no other option, the absurd urge to swallow again just because that action was impossible rushed over Chase as the arm across his throat lowered so as to avoid having to move the gun, and the hand darted to Chase's belt, pulling the pager free and thrusting Chase away from him so hard the intensivist stumbled as he tried to stay on his feet.

The man kept the 9mm trained on Chase throughout, eyes darting around the room until they landed on a small boy huddled in his mother's arms in the corner "you," he said, the intensity of his gaze meant it was impossible to mistake the command to be meant for anyone else "gimme your bag,"

The boy's mother looked terrified as she scrambled to get the backpack of her son's back and hand it to their captor; the man looked back at Chase, giving him a pointed look as he backed up, gun still pointing at the blonde, until he was within reach of the mother and he snatched the bag from her.

Chase caught sight of a frantic woman making for the double doors the man had burst through, but his gaze must have lingered a fraction of a second too long as the man whirled around, and a resounding bang echoed off the infirmary walls as the trigger was pulled.

* * *

House twirled his cane in his hands, staring unfocusedly at the handle as it rotated slowly, he sighed as he heard rather than saw the big glass doors of his office swing open and his two fellows walked in "what?" he said after a moment of Cameron staring at him, he reached without looking for the prescription bottle in his pocket and dry swallowed another couple of Vicodin.

"She's got a fever of a hundred-and-two," the brunette announced, "her platelet count is through the roof and ESR is elevated,"

House got to his feet, "give her Ibuprofen," he said, walking into the conference room and going straight for the coffee maker.

Foreman gave him a contemptuous look before following "she's asking to see you,"

The caustic doctor threw him a sarcastic look but didn't dignify him with a response.

"She's dying House," Cameron implored, desperate for them to come up with a solution.

House sighed, setting his coffee mug down and going over to the whiteboard and scrawling 'fever' beneath the crossed out 'seizures' and stepping back, throwing the marker onto the table and studying the symptoms list with an intense scrutiny.

"Could be a pulmonary embolism," Foreman suggested.

"Doesn't explain the kidney failure," Cameron countered "what about pericarditis? It would explain why we thought she was getting better on the antibiotics,"

"Pericarditis wouldn't cause a heart attack," Foreman replied, his tone bordering on incredulous.

"It could if she was already hypertensive,"

"Which she isn't,"

"We don't know that,"

"There was nothing in the patient history about-"

"Everybody lies," House whispered to himself after a brief but tense silence, his brow furrowing in concentration as he looked up, an expression of realisation flickering across his face as he limped as fast he was able from the room.

The effort it took for Foreman not to roll his eyes at that point was nearly too much.

* * *

Another series of unified screams ricocheted around the room but the terror behind them was more tangible, they weren't wary or whimpering they were genuine, loud and harsh, stinging his ears as Chase flinched and ducked on reflex.

The thick metal plate where the handle was attached twisted and made the bang more metallic sounding as the bullet embedded itself in the heavy emergency room doors. The woman who had tried to make a bid for freedom was cowering on the floor, a low keening sound coming from her chest as she wrapped her arms around her head, dirty-blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and hiding her face.

"Nobody leaves until I say so!" the man waved his gun around pointedly and the occupants of the room with the ability to do so flinched when he did it, then to the woman "you, away from the door,"

The woman scooted away from the door as fast as she could, green eyes wide and filled with tears as she desperately tried to think of a reason to stop this lunatic from shooting her. Thankfully it would seem that he was not interested in taking her life just yet as his attention went back to the children's backpack in his hand.

"Everything in here," he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down people's spines "pagers, cell phones, everything now,"

There was a scrambled to comply with him, all means of communication being pulled from pockets, purses, belts and being dropped into the bag before they stepped back, a chilling sense of complete detachment with the world flooding them as any and all means of rescue was slowly taken away from them.

"That it? That all of them?" he barked, the fear of the consequences if it wasn't sent an urgent nod of heads spiralling around the room; he zipped the bag up and threw it to a secluded side, striding over to the doors and plucking a currently unused IV pole up and sliding it through the metal door handles, "you…" he squinted as he tried to read the name badges "Doctor Chase, Nurse Gillespie, get a bed in front of that door," when they hesitated "now!" the gun was back, gesturing wildly in their direction and the two of them hurried to do as they were told.

The expression on the man's face was becoming less precise, less clinical as if he hadn't thought passed this point. Once the barricade had been sufficiently erected he waved Chase and Gillespie back over to the middle of the room "all of you, together, over there," he gestured "do it," as they moved he caught sight of the cubicles, the curtains drawn close and he strolled over, jerking the flimsy veils back on every one so as to see precisely who was hiding there "can you walk?" he snapped at them but there was no reply except for fearful gasps and cries of indignation from the man whose leg had been injured and Chase had been tending too; Luke Anthony, "if you can walk, get over there with the others,"

Whether they would claim themselves incapable in any other situation the crash-victims hobbled off the beds if that were indeed possible, limping and staggering to where they had been pointed to join the others, and those that were struggling the most relied on the help of the strangers who had been lying injured next to them to get them over to the designated area.

"Why are you doing this?" Danny exclaimed suddenly, "who are you?"

The man's eyes were crazy, and Chase could see quite easily that his pupils were dilated; he was on something, high. The man's jacket was long sleeved so it was impossible to tell if there were needle tracks on his arms but the acrid aroma of alcohol, sex and drugs clung to him like a second skin. His actions whilst they had been controlled at first were becoming less measured, more erratic, clumsy even, barely discernible but he was a doctor; he was meant to notice the things that other people didn't.

In a move, no one saw coming the man strode over to Casey's bedside, the gun pointing straight at her head "one more word and I'll shoot her," the choice whilst Chase knew it had been random was unnervingly accurate as Danny immediately shut up, shrinking back into the wall and silently begging for the gun to be taken away from his girlfriend.

It was eerie how not fifteen minutes ago, the ER had been buzzing with activity, a hive of shouts, beeps and the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal-on-metal and theatrically calm voices of the doctors and nurses as they tried to calm the panicked, save the dying and preserve the injured. Only now they had been reduced to a group of med staff and patients cowering in a corner; the plain line between doctor and not blurred as they were snatched from their roles and thrust into brand new ones where they were all on the same level, with the same amount of power and information as each other.

* * *

House slid the door to Judy Bishop's room open before stepping inside, leaving the door as Cameron and Foreman followed behind him.

Judy's head lolled as she weakly turned her head to focus on the man who had just entered the room; her daughter was slumbering in the chair in the corner, a book with garish pictures and few words in her lap; "you must be Doctor House," Judy said, her voice barely more than a whisper, her skin was pale and her hair plastered to her forehead by sweat.

House gave a swift nod before moving over to her bedside, and lifting up her arm, pushing the short sleeve of the hospital scrubs up to her shoulder, ignoring her protests. When he was dissatisfied he moved onto her other arm, finding what he was looking for he gestured for the two other doctors to take a look at the red and purple dots adorning the skin there.

"What's that?" Judy said, staring at the marks herself.

"Your blood vessels are bursting," he said nonchalantly, pulling the sheet covering the patient back and examining her feet "there," he pointed at Judy's toes, where gangrene was slowly starting to make a claim to the appendages.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed in horror, tearing her gaze from her feet to House's face "what's happening?"

"You have Vasculitis," House announced almost proudly, then to Cameron and Foreman "get her back on corticosteroids and put her on azathiprine and cyclophosphamide," he ordered, avoiding looking at the patient as she stared at him imploringly, glancing once at the woman's sleeping child he left the room once more, the door swishing shut behind him.

_Author's Notes: Hmm… review if you want more, don't if didn't like it :P_


	4. Harry

_Author's Notes: Exams are now over (at last), though I tell you, studying with tonsillitis totally sucked :P anyway, guess I should forewarn you that this chapter contains strong language and use of illegal substances._

Chapter 4: Harry

If he was being honest with himself, he would gladly admit that he was petrified, but he wasn't going to be honest. He wasn't going to be the good little Catholic schoolboy. He was going to lie and say he was fine, and that the maniac standing five feet from him was just a figment of his over-worked imagination; a by-product of stress and too much coffee. Differential diagnosis please; violent hallucinations, racing heart, nausea and strange numb sensation in left foot… come on, this is important, you can't – add talking to oneself to the list of symptoms.

"Doctor Chase," an intern whispered from behind him, tugging a little on his lab coat to get his attention.

Shooting a wary glance at the man holding them hostage Chase didn't move but answered with as little movement of his lips as possible "what?" but apparently he wasn't a good a ventriloquist as he would have liked to believe, which, if it hadn't been for the dangerous glower from the gunman followed by a terrifying click as the pistol was cocked again, he would have been strangely okay with because those dolls were creepy.

"No one talks," the man instructed absurdly calmly, "no one moves, no one so much as _breathes_ without my permission, got it?"

Wide eyes fixed on the man and even without anyone saying anything, Chase could feel the momentary panic within the group; the man was completely insane, high as a kite and at the minute, he held all the power – the hysteria leading them all the ponder this for a second; was he _serious_ about the _no breathing_ part? Some were willing to take that risk, the rest followed, and the man's eyes narrowed when the little boy whose backpack he had taken gasped as he had been holding his breath for too long. Yet the man said nothing. Chase was desperate enough to take that as a good sign.

The chances that this was were very slim. Chase' mind was racing; for a while he was able to analyse the situation – immediate threats, possible threats, the number of people in the room, ratio of children to adults, staff to patients, minor injuries versus major, the condition of the gunman, where he was in the room, where his gun was, did he have any other weapons; for an impossible moment the blond doctor found himself trying to calculate the number of rounds left in the 9mm. One shot had been fired that meant… what if the chamber wasn't full when he came in? What if he had more ammunition in his pocket?

The more time that went by, the harder it was to concentrate. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest, his body threatening to start shaking as adrenalin pumped through his system. Whilst its secretion was perfectly expected, it was not helping the situation as it was impossible to do either of the things it was supposed to provide the energy to do; he could neither fight nor run, both would be incredibly stupid. Besides, his judgement was being hindered by the rush; he was accustomed to working in highly stressful situations, in the ICU, surgery… and the adrenalin went then but this was different. And medically analysing it was not helping. He closed his eyes for a moment, before fear of the unknown took hold and they snapped open again.

The man was pacing back and forth, his fingers moving almost perversely across the barrel of his 9mm, polishing the sleek metal with his sleeve so meticulously it was frightening how measured the movements of their captor was. The muscles in the mans forearms bulged as he thrust his arms out, the mouth of the gun pointing at the wall, a unanimous gasp filled the room but the man paid no heed, lowering the gun and peering down the line of the barrel; as if to assess how straight the weapon was.

* * *

"What on… Earth?" Cuddy slung her stethoscope around her neck, it thudded gently against her chest as she watched the EMTs come rushing through the front doors of the hospital; two nurses had sprung to life, holding the huge doors open as a gurney clattered through.

The administrator's heels clacked against the floor as she scurried over to find out what was going on as nurses and doctors rushed to assist the breathless paramedics who were throwing out information methodically; blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels. She approached the nearest EMT and pulled him aside; "John, what's going on?"

"The emergency room doors won't budge," he scrubbed a hand through his close cut hair, tendrils clinging to his forehead as he swept the sweat away "one minute we're shipping the crash victims through 'em, the next, it's like they've been bolted shut,"

A frown gathered on her face and she moved over to the nurses' station, reaching over for the phone and hitting the extension for the ER.

* * *

The silence of the emergency room was cut through by the shrill sound of the phone ringing. The hostage-taker looked widely at his captives, staring at them with his crazed eyes; _yep_, Chase thought, _definitely stoned._

"What's that?" the man snapped, finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger of his weapon though the trembling of his hand, most likely a result of withdrawal, indicated it was more out of reflex than an actual intention to get al trigger happy again.

Chase bit back the urge to sarcastically retort, _it's a phone you idiot_, before realising he had spent way too much time with House if that was his gut reaction – to intentionally aggravate the madman with a gun – he found it vaguely ironic that the man had managed to bring everything he needed to take the ER under storm, something that would have required extensive planning but had managed to forget his next fix, but as if on cue, the man scrambled through his pockets, his movements erratic and panicked as he fumbled with the hypodermic needle and a vial of what was presumably heroin. The blond doctor watched as the man struggled to even roll up his sleeve never mind actually administer the dose.

Deciding to take it as an opportunity to get some more information out of the man Chase ventured forward; hesitant at first, he stood up, hands in front of him, palms facing straight ahead "let me help," he said softly as the man leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down it to slump on the floor, still fighting with his jacket sleeve.

The man caught his eye briefly and made a jerky movement with his head that could have been a nod but it was difficult to tell.

Chase moved a little faster but not too much so just in case the man changed his mind and then saw him as some sort of threat and it also allowed him a few seconds to actually contemplate what he was doing. He was about to help a violent, unstable, hostage-taking, gun-wielding junkie shoot up just so he could get a name and cause.

As he reached the man he crouched down, lab coat pooling around his feet he tentatively held out his hand for the needle and drug in the man's hand. Placing them cautiously on the floor next to him, Chase forced himself to ignore the persistent trill of the phone, rolling up the man's sleeve he winced when he saw the track marks marring the soft skin at the elbow, running down his arm like ugly ropes. Refusing to even contemplate administrating any drugs, never mind illegal ones without swabbing the injection site first, he reached up onto the gurney for alcohol and gauze, jumping when the man seized his wrist.

"Easy," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat and moving much slower to reach the objects; the man saw what he was doing and looked like he was struggling not to laugh at the doctor's scrupulous behaviour.

The phone stopped ringing only to start again a moment later. Chase noticed the man's smug expression, the smirk twisting already thin lips even further. He knew it was ridiculous, the man would never have used antiseptic normally but he was at a hospital and he wasn't the one injecting himself. House would probably call him anal, or something equally degrading. Foreman would laugh dryly and shake his head. Cameron… Cameron…

The fingers around his wrist tightened and Chase was jerked back into the present, avoiding eye contact with the man he swabbed the inside of his patient's elbow, before filling the syringe with the heroin and slowly injecting it into the man's bloodstream. The effect it had was almost instantaneous, the tense muscles relaxed and his eyes closed; it was repulsive yet fascinating as a few minutes passed, the phone stopped ringing and the man's eyes opened again, looking far less pained and, absurdly, less crazed. He heaved himself, awkwardly, to his feet and patronizingly patted Chase on the head with a gruff "cheers kid,"

He almost blew his chance and Chase got to his feet as quickly as he could "who are you?"

The man stared at him and Chase could feel his heart hammering in his chest, why couldn't he keep his stupid mouth shut? He didn't want to get shot; he certainly didn't want to watch anyone else get shot but he'd gone and asked anyway. However it seemed that the captor decided that the question was one worth an answer rather than a bullet and responded "why d'ya need to know?" he seemed calmer than before, like a more dramatic version of House after having taken too many Vicodin – well, too more than was average; the amount he took on a day-to-day basis it was a small wonder he was able to form cognitive sentences.

Chase shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant "curiosity I guess,"

The man nodded, as if he respected Chase's honesty "you can call me Harry," he answered, going back to polishing his gun, though the intermittent glances at the phone were not missed.

* * *

"No one's picking up," Cuddy said, the worry in her voice was evident and John tore his eyes away from the work of the other EMTs on the latest crash victims.

"What?" the paramedic asked, taking the phone, his panic overlaying any thought for the fact he had effectively just snatched the handset from the hospital administrator, as well as calling her a liar, he tapped in the extension again, growing more concerned when there was still no answer; he handed the phone back to Cuddy, even with the chaos currently down there, someone should have been able to answer the phone.

"Everything okay?" Wilson asked, as he approached, his thick eyebrows knitted together in alarm as he noticed the expressions on both Cuddy and John the paramedic's faces, alongside the impromptu ER that had erected in the middle of the hospital entrance; the prying eyes of curious clinic patients were gathering a small crowd; "what's going on?"

"There's something wrong in the ER," John said.

"We don't know that," Cuddy cut him off, racking her brain for a reasonable explanation, the phone was explicable, the doors however were not – 'they got stuck' doesn't wash when the doors have been swinging back and forth every ten seconds for the last four hours.

"The doors are locked and they're not answering the phone," John said, his patience drawing thin "there's a problem,"

Wilson shot Cuddy another look and she nodded, gesturing for him to try the phone.

* * *

The phone started ringing again but Harry didn't even look around, choosing the ignore it. Chase found it a little stranger that the man had taken them all hostage but was yet to actually let anyone outside of the room know what was going on; what exactly was he hoping to achieve?

One of the nurses seemed to take it upon herself to do something though, despite the muttered protestations of her colleagues; "we need help," she said into the mouthpiece, without even checking to see who it was "there's a man and-" she screamed as Harry whirled around and fire his gun straight into the phone set on the wall, the plastic shattering and splintering everywhere, the line instantly went dead as the wires were cut through, smoke whistling from the charred box.

"You stupid bitch," Harry snarled, moving in on her like a lion would his prey "who said you could answer the phone?"

The nurse whimpered, making a strange keening sound in the back of her throat.

"Who said huh?" he grabbed her hair, jerking her head back "who said you could answer the fuckin' phone?"

"Let her go," Chase said with a surge or heroism of stupidity – he couldn't decide which – he didn't realise he had "Harry…" he added, the warning in his tone was ridiculous.

Harry, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that the nurse was not worth the effort and he released her roughly, turning away but a second later he whirled around and backhanded the nurse harshly across the face, she stumbled and Chase caught her before she hit the floor, clutching her face and sobbing both in pain and fear as Harry stalked away, absorbing himself once more.

* * *

Wilson hit the hang-up button on the phone but instantly tried again; getting nothing he was forced to replace the abandon the job.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked

"Someone's down there," he said, picking up the receiver again "I think," he tapped in another series of numbers, his voice thick and measured "there's a hostage situation – hello, Doctor James Wilson, Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," he said, his tone changing completely as he addressed the operator.

Cuddy stared at the oncologist, a… what? A _hostage situation_? She wanted to ask more but when he started talking to the operator, calmly reporting the matter she was too shocked to say anything at all. A… how many people were down there? The accident this morning meant that… _hostages?_

"The police are on they're way," Wilson reported, somewhat breathlessly, the pained look in his eyes a dead give away as to his panic.

"Hostages?" was all Cuddy was able to get out "are… are you sure?"

"Sarah answered, she sounded terrified… she said that they needed help and that there was a man…" he stopped, already dark eyes darkening even more "then she screamed and the line went dead,"

Her hands flew to her mouth in horror, her chest growing tight. This… in her hospital, and no one knew… the people down there, people she'd sent down because they were short staffed, as well as those who normally worked there; but… why… _the emergency room;_ what could anyone hope to achieve by taking the emergency room?

* * *

Cameron blew her hair from her face, soft strands of her fringe falling into her line of sight as she went over the blood cultures for Judy Bishop. Double checking her work, the medication House had put her on seemed to be working though it would be several hours before Judy started to feel it, in the meantime it would do no harm to see if there was anything any of them could have missed.

"You _still_ working on those cultures?" Foreman asked from the doorway, his smile bright as always though somewhat condescending in nature, he probably didn't mean it that way, or maybe he did, the man was an enigma, one minute his own man, adamantly defying anything House said to him, working by the book, the next he all but _was_ House.

She sent him a slight smile "yes," she went back to looking under the microscope "we might have missed something,"

"House seemed pretty certain it was Vasculitis," he pointed out, his tone casual.

"He was also sure it was myocarditis,"

"No," the African-American jibed "you were,"

Cameron glowered at him over the lens, determined not to be baited she made a point of swapping slides and once more going back to work.

_Author's Notes: End of chapter 4… seems my inspiration for this fiction comes only in the middle of the night lol. Review if you want more :P! _


	5. No Good Reason

_Author's Notes: Ironically, I know very little about how hostage situations are handled, I'm working on what I know, researching what I don't, and making up the rest to fill in the gaps, I hope anything that's wrong you guys can overlook and accept as part of the plot. :P Read, review and enjoy!_

Chapter 5: No Good Reason

The man that walked through the glass doors of the entrance was primly dressed; Armani suit, leather shoes shined and polished to perfection and his dark hair was neatly combed to one side, he was young but his face was almost severe in its sincerity. He flashed his ID at Cuddy so fast she barely had time to register what it said; "Special Agent O'Reilley," he introduced himself curtly, tucking his ID and badge back into his pocket "FBI,"

She blinked, holding out her hand "Doctor Lisa Cuddy," she replied almost mechanically, his grip was firm as he shook her proffered hand purposefully, "M.D. I'm administrator at this hospital,"

O'Reilley nodded, "hear we've got a hostage situation on our hands?" his tone was strange as if he were both asking a question and stating a fact at the same time, she was somewhat hesitant to reply, as whilst she was not intimidated by him – she worked with House, she was used to difficult, obscure characters – he maintained a unique sort of aura around him that she was tentative to cross through.

Hostages… she still couldn't get her head round the fact. Who would want to take the emergency room? And the number of people down there was about three times as many as there normally was; the bus crash had resulted in a massive number of casualties, possibly even more than they had beds and… _hostages_? Nurse Fort, Nurse Fraser, Doctor Chase, all the victims, Doctor Gardiner… her heart was pounding in her ears, her head spinning. This was no time to lose it – if there is actually a time for that to take place that is – she had a hospital to organize, FBI agents and police to cooperate with, patients to evacuate.

Wilson stared for a moment before replying "uh… as far as we can gather,"

O'Reilley gave him a stony look but gestured minutely for him to continue.

"We can't contact the emergency room; I managed to get a hold of one of the nurses before the line went dead…"

"What did she say?" the agent's gaze was intense but he appeared to be genuinely interested, which, of course, was the man's job, so neither doctor could figure out why they seemed to assume otherwise.

"That there was a man… and they needed help,"

It sounded ridiculous even in to Wilson, the irony of it, the cliché; how completely pointless was that information? They had called in a hostage situation; the FBI had been hauled out to deal with it, what else would the agent be expecting him to say? Wilson wished he had more to tell him, but there wasn't anything, and all he could think about were the people trapped in that room, the terrified breaking of the nurse's voice as she called for help and the suddenness of the call ending made his stomach tie itself in knots.

He could not help thinking of the hundreds of different scenarios that could have culminated in the scream and the line being cut off, each idea was more preposterous than the last, more impossible. There were so many people down there… dozens and dozens of innocent crash victims and hospital staff, some of which shouldn't even be down there… Nurse Callaghan had worked through the night and was yet to go home, Chase… someone should tell House and the rest of his team –

"Okay. ER's this way right?" he gestured "yes? Good," Wilson half expected him to clap his hands together "do we have any idea of how many people are down there?" his icy blue eyes fixed on Cuddy.

"A lot," Cuddy answered quickly, the thought of leaving the man waiting, even for a second was somehow nerve wracking "all the bus crash victims from this morning are down there – except the ones that got taken straight to Princeton General, plus any patients that have been brought in both before and since that time, the usual staff and several more members of staff who I sent down there to cover,"

The FBI agent seemed to be mentally jotting all the information down, nodding every couple of words but not in a manner that seemed in anyway to indicate she needed to hurry up and stop talking so much. He scanned the room carefully, critical eyes dancing over every person, crevice and contour in site, all the furniture, plants and lights. The elevator dinged and the nurse who emerged, a pile of medical files in her arms, flushed as everyone looked at her, the noise of the lift interrupting the stoic silence that had birthed.

"There's a SWAT team on their way, along with HRT and a negotiator," he glanced over his shoulder absently, "in the mean time, do you know if this man is armed?"

They shook their heads in unison.

"No idea," Cuddy admitted.

"Right," O'Reilley said and his mind seemed to be working at a million miles a minute "then we need to assume he is and start evacuating people, do _not_ cause a panic. The last thing we need is a full scale riot on our hands,"

Wilson nodded "who do you want moved?"

"For now, let's just get all personnel signed and accounted for, then get them all too…" he turned to Cuddy "is there anywhere I can use to brief the staff?"

Cuddy looked rather bemused for a moment, several hundred people were in the hospital, for some of them movement would be both difficult if not impossible. Yet… hostages, why wasn't that word sinking in? "Yes," she started, jumping a little when she saw both Wilson and O'Reilley were staring at her "yes of course, you can use one of the lecture halls,"

* * *

Foreman rolled his eyes when the baritone voice of some mediocre actor schmoozed from the tinny speakers of House's TV, the half-rate soap opera was indistinguishable from the dozens of others his boss watched on a daily basis. The ever-present ball was balanced somewhat precariously on the handle of his cane and House didn't even look around when he heard the neurologist enter his office.

"What?" he asked, the ball bounced about six inches into the air before landing with a heavy thud against the wooden cane, his eyes were glued to the tiny TV screen as the male doctor flirted atrociously with a intern who looked like a prostitute with her trashy, peroxide-blonde hair, cleavage that couldn't possibly be real pushed up under her chin and make up so thick her eyelids looked like they were drooping under the weight.

"Cameron's just finished rerunning the blood cultures on Judy Bishop,"

"And?" this time House did turn his head, speaking slowly as if taunting Foreman about something the other man was as yet unaware of.

"She has leukaemia,"

* * *

Chase felt sick.

Harry was slumped against the far wall, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed and a lazy, almost manic grin playing on his lips as he breathed heavily, his skin pink-tinged and flushed, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest completely out of synch with the rapid hammering of his heart. A fine sheen of sweat glistened across his face, slicking his fringe to his forehead; a casual flick of his fingers through his hair sent it into obscure spikes slanting at haphazard angles.

The expression of euphoria on Harry's face was nauseating, sending Chase's stomach into knots even when he looked away; _he'd done that_, heroin was causing through their captor's veins, and the young intensivist knew all the effects of the drug, both short and long term, knew what it did to the body, how it plagued it, the ins and outs of addiction, and the ugly, degrading effects of withdrawal, vomiting, delirium, fevers… it went against so many moral codes, yet… he worked with House every day, so his vice was legal, that didn't make it any more right than Harry the heroin junkie.

"What's up kid?" Harry was breathless and, half-opening his eyes to smirk at the blond Australian "you never seen a guy high before?"

Chase felt his ears burn when he realised that he had been staring at the other man, his stomach felt like it was both filled with lead and doing somersaults at the same time; "yes," he replied "of course,"

Harry crooked an eyebrow and waved his gun absently in front of him "you should try it kid," he murmured "what a fuckin' rush…" he grinned dopily, eyes bright but pupils dilated as he heaved a great sigh.

"No thank you," Chase replied quickly, trying not to sound as repulsed as he felt by the thought; it's one thing for a guy to shoot up when he doesn't know the gory details, but quite another for a doctor who understood it all too well.

"Ya sure?" he crooned "got plenty spare, won't even charge ya… think you deserve a reward don't you? Helped me…" he leered, his words holding a double meaning no one could decipher.

Seizing the opportunity, or perhaps being _seized by_ stupidity Chase answered; "you could let us go,"

Harry's expression darkened and he looked at Chase critically; "not gonna happen,"

"What do you want?" a young woman, maybe twenty-five, whimpered from the corner, her long golden hair was mussed up and dried blood was caked to the side of her face, fresh blood trickling down from the angry red gash just above her temple; the red was a stark contrast to her chalky white skin.

"What do _I _want?" he repeated incredulously "I want a whole hell of a lot of stuff sweetheart, but I ain't stupid enough to think I'm gonna get any of it,"

"Then why I you doing this?" she pleaded, brown eyes sparkling with tears that she was valiantly fighting "why are you keeping us in here?" her voice shook and a man about her age next to her took her hand, squeezing her fingers in reassurance.

Harry just looked at her coldly, his voice frighteningly toneless; "why not?"

* * *

Cuddy knew she should have gone straight to diagnostics. She should have told House, Cameron and Foreman, requested their presence in Agent O'Reilley's briefing but she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it, she could already picture their faces, their reactions and she wasn't sure she was ready to face that, instead she had busied herself and Wilson with gathering the nurses and doctors available that were not going to come up with excuses, sarcastic comments and determined proclamations that 'Chase is down there! We have to do something' and 'we can't just sit here!' because she knew that, she really, really did.

"Where's House?" Wilson asked, sidling up along side her, his expression was curious and she immediately felt a spike of guilt as he spoke; she recognized the moment it dawned on him "you haven't told him?"

Cuddy took a calming breath, staring straight ahead, focussing on the black board with a thin film of chalk dust across it "no,"

"Why not?" the oncologist exclaimed, incredulously, unable to keep his shock contained.

She looked at him, fixing him with an intense gaze and Wilson saw a myriad of emotions flicker through her eyes; "House would only…" there was no excuse, not really, she was just… what was she trying to do? She couldn't even describe it anymore.

Wilson's expression softened "do you want me to go tell them?"

She hesitated a moment too long in replying, blinking steadily as she watched the staff file in, chatter buzzing overhead and the room filling with a heavy cloud of fear and apprehension that made her head feel like an intense pressure was building behind her eyes. It must have been a moment too long because the next thing she knew he was squeezing her elbow and smiling reassuringly before leaving the lecture hall completely.

* * *

House leaned forwards onto his desk and raised an eyebrow at the neurologist but said nothing; the TV was still buzzing irritatingly in the back ground.

"We must have missed it the first time around. Chances are its in the early stages which means we can probably treat it," Foreman continued, even if just to break the uneasy silence that followed his announcement, he should have known it would have been better to let Cameron tell the caustic diagnostician, but no, he'd let the young woman rerun her tests 'just to make sure' but the tests had been pretty conclusive.

"She can't have two diseases," House pointed out.

"Obviously she does," Foreman answered, if a little short-temperedly.

House went to rebuke the younger doctor, reply that no, she couldn't, it just meant that the diagnosis of Vasculitis was wrong, that something more elusive was plaguing the obstinate single mother. His mind was running in a hundred different directions at once, thinking each symptom over at record speed, considering all the symptoms in every possible combination and then again for good measure. However, there was also the glaring fact that a leukaemia diagnosis was pretty conclusive but leukaemia couldn't cause all her symptoms so –

Wilson pushed open the glass door to the office and stepped inside, stopping just short of the chair in the corner, his shoulders were slumped a little but the rest of his body was as taut as a guitar string ready to snap, he was buzzing with anxiety and Foreman turned when he saw his boss was staring straight passed him.

"Wilson," House leant back in his chair, spinning his cane in his hands absently "to what do we owe the pleasure,"

He opened his mouth to reply, how he wasn't sure, but he went to try anyway, nevertheless the door opened again, the clacking of Cameron's heels stopped abruptly as she stepped from the sleek floor of the hallway to the carpet of House's office. A wave of something akin to relief washed over Wilson, it could have been dread or fear, all sense of being able to distinguish emotions bound so tightly together had gone the moment he had heard the petrified cries of Sarah the emergency room nurse on the other end of the phone line; _"we need help! There's a man and-"_ then a scream, fear-filled and genuine, heart-wrenching in its raw intensity.

"Is everything okay?" Cameron asked, touching Wilson's arm in a gesture that would ordinarily be imperceptible but for some reason now left the skin beneath his shirt sleeve tingling with residual heat.

Any plan he had formulated of how he was going to tell the three remaining members of the diagnostics team flew from his head, leaving it frighteningly blank. He swallowed; his throat suddenly parched and dry. _Here goes nothing_, he thought as he eyes darted from the concerned expression on Cameron's face, to the curious one on Foreman's and ending with the one of absent resignation on House's. He chose to focus on the latter because some part of his brain was telling him, absurdly, that the lack of emotion on his best friend's face would somehow make this easy to say.

_Author's Notes: Possibly a little shorter than last time, but that's just how it goes :P I hope you all enjoyed it – please review!!_


	6. Displacement

_Author's Notes: In response to the reviewers who thought I had forgotten about this story – it won't happen! RL just gets in the way sometimes, and my other fictions (unfortunately) sometimes end up taking precedence and I want to make this fiction somewhere near 'good' so I have to make sure my muse is ready to cooperate :D I am really glad that people are enjoying this and I hope you continue you to! I will try to update as regularly as possible :P Once again, warning for strong language, but Harry is a heroin-addicted, hostage-taking lunatic so his dirty mouth is probably one of his more appealing traits. Also note, medical jargon etc is from google!!_

Chapter 6: Displacement

Wilson licked his lips and found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything else as he watched their reaction. There had been no tactical way to say it, there rarely was, you can't mince words, place proclamations like that amidst silly words and nonsensical phrases just so the person you were talking to would feel better about the bad news. Maybe he'd been spending too much time with House, but he wasn't cruel about it, sarcastic, he was literal, like telling someone they have cancer, you _had_ to be literal, had to say the precise truth but with an empathy and compassion that cannot really be learnt because if you don't, the gravity of the situation doesn't hit in the safe confines of a oncologist's office, it happens somewhere else, somewhere where the help is harder to find or more difficult to accept.

Cameron was pale, and he almost went to force her to sit down and drink a glass of water as her hands flew to her face when she gasped in horror, eyes wide and unblinking, challenging him to tell her it wasn't true and in some horrifically clichéd manner he wanted to shout 'April Fools!' or 'Had ya there didn't I?' but that would be sick, so… no that was below even House. Foreman was staring at him like he'd grown a second – or maybe even third – head, eyes wide and piercing; the chocolate brown irises bright and stark against the white of the rest of his eye.

His eyes moved to House, and he swallowed against the lump that had risen in his throat as he had observed the remaining two members of his best friend's diagnostics team. To anyone else, Wilson supposed, House looked no different than before, he was in the same position and his face was expressionless, almost as if he was about to jump right back into the conversation they had been having before the oncologist had interrupted.

However, Wilson knew from many years of friendship – which probably would not fit into the strictest definition of the term with the majority of the population – that something had changed; every muscle in the other man's body was tense; strung like a live wire, his blue eyes which always managed to betray him somehow, were dancing between shock and fury, something in between almost matching Cameron's plea that it wasn't real but not quite, it was less desperate and fuelled by fury rather than deep-seated compassion. Because for all House hurled abuse at his team, they were _his_ team and God help anyone who messed with that.

Licking his lips which had absurdly gone very dry Wilson tried to break the ominous silence, "the FBI is already here, and SWAT and HRT are on their way," the information is both vital and meaningless, it meant that something was being done yet at the same time the only thing that mattered was the people down there… Chase and Sarah and the dozens of other hospital staff and patients trapped in the ER "there's a Special Agent O'Reilley briefing everyone in one of the lecture halls now,"

House got to his feet, and moved over to the coat stand in the corner, using his cane he unhooked his jacket and turned to the other three people in the room who were watching him closely as he smoothly levered it around his shoulders and straightened the collar casually. Cameron's tear-bright eyes were unblinking and filled with so much emotion he had to look away; "where to?" he asked stonily.

Wilson found himself breathing a sigh of relief that he had no realized he was holding, nor the purpose of, before ducking out of the room and holding the door "this way,"

* * *

Chase tugged at his tie, loosening the offending item somewhat and rested his head against the wall, the chill seeping through his hair and providing a momentary relief from the rising temperature of the room.

The after effects of the heroin rush had left Harry flushing rapidly from hot to cold, and his last cool spell had, had him cursing colorfully and waving his gun around so much it was a small wonder he hadn't blown someone's head off. Proclaiming loudly that he was getting pneumonia and refusing to listen to the few doctors and nurses who had managed to pluck up the nerve to tell him that it was just his last fix that had caused his discomfort, his darting eyes had found the thermostat and he had turned it to the maximum, resulting in everyone else in the room feeling like they were sat in the sauna.

Harry shivered and pulled the blanket around his shoulders tighter around his body "it's fucking freezing,"

Chase swallowed, trying to ignore him as he closed his eyes and the momentary blackness that followed was reassuring. He could pretend that this wasn't real there, that he was sat, dozing in his chair at the table in the conference room, feet propped up on another chair and a crossword in his lap; any minute now House would slam something heavy down on the desk in front of him, then make some awful joke about napping wallabies before challenging him to come up with a reason why some woman was bleeding from the eyes. His own eyes snapped open again at that because he felt guilty; just because he _could_ pretend that this was some horrific dream, did not mean that he _should._

A warning beep sounded from one of the machines, and several of the captive medical personnel looked up instinctively, the flashing numbers on screen signifying a dangerous drop in blood pressure of the previously seizing woman that Chase had helped restrain just prior to the whole bus crash debacle getting so much worse.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry breathed, staring straight at Chase, but his tone held no compassion merely psychotic curiosity, his face expressionless.

"Blood pressure's dropping," Chase said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides to try and repress the urge to go running to the woman's side and do everything he should have done more than three hours ago.

"We need to do something," Nurse Gillespie said and when Harry looked at her dangerously she merely raised her chin and jutted her jaw out in stubborn defiance; Chase had to commend her for her bravery.

"You," Harry gestured to Chase and Gillespie "do something," he ordered as he tucked his hands back beneath the blanket "shut that damn machine up,"

Scrambling to his feet Chase hurried over to the woman, knowing without looking that Gillespie was following, a cursory examination was all it took to identify that the woman needed surgery, and fast, the metal lodged in her side had acted as a sort of plug for the blood flow for a while but the furious pounding of her weakening heart, had led to the blood being slowly expelled from the minute fissures surrounding the deep laceration.

"She needs surgery," Chase looked at Harry, caution be damned "we need to get her to theatre,"

Harry hesitated a moment and Chase almost repeated his announcement before the other man responded with a decisive shake of his head "do it here," he replied, glancing as a doctor in the crowd went to help "stay put," he ordered.

"We can't do it _here_," the Australian replied "we need to scrub up, proper equipment… sterile conditions-"

Harry glowered at him and Chase swallowed convulsively at the murderous look in their captor's eye "this is a fucking hospital," he hissed dangerously "everything is fucking sterile," there was a pause and another shrill beep proclaiming a further drop in blood pressure before anyone dared continue "you either do the surgery here or let her die; I don't care either way," he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall again, seemingly oblivious to the defiant look being sent his way.

"Can you assist?" Chase whispered to Gillespie because the number of pairs of eyes currently focused on them was unnerving.

Gillespie nodded, glancing at Doctor Warner sat with a trembling little girl in the corner, her mother was as yet unidentified and her father was yet to be notified that his wife and daughter had been in an accident; "I'll give it a shot," she smiled weakly at Chase, hoping that, somehow, that would ease the tension.

"Okay then," Chase breathed, plucking latex gloves from the box on a nearby trolley and pulling them on; "here we go,"

* * *

"This man is possibly armed and likely dangerous," O'Reilley's voice was monotonous and House found himself despising the man instantly "as soon as SWAT and HRT arrive, we'll begin evacuating those patients and staff who can be moved to Princeton General. Then, we will begin with those who will be more difficult to evacuate," the agent pointed vaguely to the map of the hospital he'd found somewhere that was now tacked up on the blackboard "in the meantime, all personnel and patients must be accounted for; no one else must be admitted. Point anyone who argues in my direction,"

House scoffed under his breath, twiddling his cane between his fingers for a moment before setting it down and resting his chin on the handle as he observed the FBI agent stare at the crowd in front of him with piercing green eyes.

"Any questions?" O'Reilley waited a moment and when no one raised their hands he proceeded "negotiations will begin as soon as HRT arrive," he went back to the desk and began tucking papers and files together as people began to filter out; the impression was rather surreal in that it was almost like the lecture hall had subdued everyone into responding and reacting in very similar ways to that which they would in an actual classroom.

Cuddy glanced at House who was currently sat in the back row of the hall, unmoving even when everyone else did. She saw Cameron and Foreman approaching from the corner of her eye and was about to make a bid for freedom when House said her name without even looking round.

"Nice of you to tell us," the collectivity in his statement uniting his team with him even if they did not agree with his sentiment "delegating the unimportant duties to your minions," he turned and raised an eyebrow at her, glancing at Wilson who was stood at Cuddy's elbow pointedly.

"House-"

"It's only the wallaby after all," he continued as if she had not spoken, his acerbic tone bringing tears to her eyes "Australia's full of them, what's one less on the planet hmm?"

"House!" Wilson exclaimed hotly, but his friend did not look at him, merely stared expressionlessly at the administrator; he more than understood House's hurt that he had not been informed immediately because that's what the other man was feeling, Wilson knew that, House was_ hurt_, and just like every other emotion he felt, he had a very bizarre way of showing it.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, turning to look at Cameron and Foreman was well "I'm sorry,"

"He's on my team," House answered in a low voice, "you put him down there,"

"Chase chose to help out in the emergency room because we were short staffed," she replied, anger tainting her voice that he dared blame her for this "he _volunteered_ to help. Maybe he wouldn't have done that if you weren't such an ass,"

Wilson stared at her, astonished that she would resort to trying to place blame as House had, Cuddy knew that you had to treat House like a kid sometimes, just let him get on with it, believe what he wanted to and have free run of his own department and people because he was just too valuable to risk loosing, which unfortunately, House was all to aware of and usually ended up playing everyone around him like a cheap violin.

Cuddy and House were glaring at each other dangerously, neither willing to surrender, despite the fact that at least Cuddy was aware that she should not let herself get sucked into playing such a childish battle of wills. The air around them was rapidly growing tense and with everything else going on in the hospital, the last thing anyone needed was the two of them launching into an out-and-out argument for no reason other than an inability for either of them to deal with the way they were currently feeling in an appropriate manner.

"What do you want us to do?" Foreman jumped in, trying to displace their attention and in effect, diffuse the situation as fast as possible.

Cuddy tore her eyes away from House's and focused on the younger doctor "how's your patient?" she glanced at Cameron as she spoke, indicating that she too, was welcome to reply also.

"She's showing symptoms of both leukemia and vasculitis," Foreman reported.

House pinched the bridge of his nose wearily "she can't have both,"

Cuddy sighed "have you treated for either?"

"Vasculitis," Cameron answered, grateful for the minor distraction but the nagging voice at the back of her mind was unrelenting in it's mantra _Chase is down there, Chase is down there_ and images of the blond doctor were flashing before her eyes, her imagination placing horrible scenarios in her head as it plucked words from the past thirty minutes randomly 'hostages', 'possibly armed', 'dangerous' and interpreted them in it's own convoluted way.

"And?"

"She seemed to get better for a while," Foreman added "several of her symptoms cleared up almost entirely,"

Cuddy nodded "what about the leukemia?"

"I ran the blood cultures three times," Cameron was persistent "they were all positive,"

It was highly unlikely that the woman had two diseases, however it was not _impossible_, nothing was ever really impossible by any stretch of the imagination, and though medicine was a science, a practiced fact, that did not mean that imagination was not needed to think outside of the proverbial box. And just because a patient has cancer, does not mean that they cannot suffer from something else as well.

"I'll take a look," Wilson cast a wary glance at House as he answered, supposing that even if he confirmed that the woman had leukemia, and Cuddy seconded the opinion that she also had vasculitis then House would still argue because he hadn't come up with the solution, and two diseases, though abnormal, wasn't as intriguing as one rare, and unfeasible sickness that ninety-percent of the medical profession have never heard of outside of a textbook.

* * *

There was so much blood he could barely see what he was doing beneath the slick wet substance that adorned his glove-clad finger tips and the utensils in his hands; the clamps were useless and doing little to prevent the steady flow. Chase glanced up at the monitor, sighing heavily when he realized her systolic and diastolic pressures were within reasonable ranges.

Gillespie jumped into action the moment Chase went to speak, and as the blood flooding the cavity grew to such proportions he was liable to make a serious error, he paused long enough for the nurse to use the suction pipe to remove some of it.

"Thanks," he whispered, swallowing convulsively as every eye on the room was focused on them, watching their every move; the severe temperature unhelpful and hindering as it only added to the stress being placed on him as he attempted to repair the ripped and torn insides of the young woman lying on the gurney in front of him; the metal shard had done a lot of damage and a people-filled emergency room with a gun-toting lunatic twenty feet away was not the best way to perform potentially life-saving surgery.

"BP's dropping," Gillespie warned, body strung taut as she watched the blinking green numbers flicker for several moments.

"Give her ­­10ccs of clonazepam**­­­­­­­,"**

Gillespie injected the drug into the woman's IV and waited for it to take effect, moment's later it did, and the numbers began climbing again before leveling off. Not a second later, tremors shook through the limbs, spreading rapidly through her body before she started all but flying off the bed "she's convulsing!"

Dropping the tools back on to the tray, Chase immediately set about helping Gillespie restrain the seizure-wrought trauma patient, "we need some help here!"

Even over the frantic beeps and warning noises of the machinery surrounding them, it was possible to hear the barely perceptible click of Harry's gun being cocked as he aimed it in the general direction of everyone else in the room "no one moves,"

"She's seizing dammit!" Gillespie cried out, turning her head to face their captor even as she tried to hold the woman's furiously flailing limbs in place; Harry merely stared back at her through cold, emotionless eyes.

The seizing stopped a moment later, and they let up, blood was spattered right the way across the bedding and the sterile plastic sheets that adorned the bed, and the woman's skin was a sickly pale. A shrill tone suddenly burst from the heart monitor.

"She's in de-fib!" Chase cried out, his own heart hammering in his chest…_they should have done this in a proper operating room…_ "panels-" they were already by his side, Gillespie slapping the gel pads onto the woman's chest "clear!"

The heady buzz of the panels whirred as the electric current shocked the woman's body so hard she jerked off the table; a moment later the beeping started over.

"Again!"

Once more the buzz filled the eerily silent air of the emergency room and another unnatural convulsion shook the body before she fell back into place; still no change.

"Ag-"

"Stop," Harry said coolly.

"What?" Chase exclaimed "I could still save-"

"She's dead kiddo," his tone was patronizingly gentle but he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, eyes dancing with a nauseating mirth and excitement.

"You sick son of a bitch," Gillespie whispered, disgust blazing in her eyes.

Harry's expression darkened "watch it lass," he warned.

The hot-headed nurse went to speak again but was distracted as Chase went to try again with the panels whilst Harry's attention was diverted, but apparently, even coming down of a heroin-high the man still had amazing reflexes because he caught sight of the fair-haired man, jumped to his feet, blanket falling, discarded to the floor and fired one shot into the defibrillator and three more into the wall above Chase's head.

"You lookin' to die today kid?" Harry leered, 9mm pointing level with Chase's chest.

Chase didn't answer; tears burned his eyes as he was forced to surrender his duty and the fact that he had just lost a patient, if only he'd gotten her out of there faster, maybe she'd be alive, and maybe he wouldn't have her death on his hands. He was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was the fear instilled by three bullets becoming absurdly close to his head, or with anger and misplaced guilt.

"I said," the gun was cocked again, a thick finger curling around the trigger "you lookin' to die today?"

He was loathe to answer but the hovering handgun forced him to "no," his voice sounded thick and heavy and he hated how it betrayed him.

Harry grinned manically, a sickly leer playing with his thin lips, gun never moving an inch "absolutely sure about that mate?"

_Author's Notes: Please review!_


	7. Breaking Point

__

Author's Notes: Sorry for it taking so long – school started back up and the workload is manic – though apparently no one else has this amount to do so… :( Anyways, more to come…

Chapter 7: Breaking Point

"They're right House," Wilson pushed away from the microscope he had been studying the slides under, turning to face his friend with a somewhat cautious expression on his face.

House looked disgruntled "a patient cannot have two diseases at once,"

"One of them is cancer," Cuddy pointed out.

Her skin was tingling, like dozens of tiny spiders were crawling all over her body. She folded her arms across her chest to hide the fact she could not stop her hands from shaking. All she could think about was the emergency room, the people locked in there, her imagination providing her with fractured images of a faceless assailant, trapping them, goading them and smothering them in despair. Did they know help was on the way? That the FBI had been called in? Or were they presuming that they were alone, the rest of the world oblivious?

"See for yourself," Wilson gestured, staring right back at his friend when House fixed him with a potent look.

With a theatrical sigh, the diagnostician propped his cane against the side and peered into the microscope just as Cuddy's pager beeped.

"Your latest gigolo?"

Cuddy shot House a reproachful look "O'Reilley,"

"He has your pager number already?" House looked up from the scope but Cuddy didn't give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze, nor in fact, answering as she exited the lab; the taptap-tap of her heels echoing down the hall.

* * *

"All right," Chase licked his lips, throat dry and heart pounding, "why don't you put the gun down?"

"You're hardly in a position to be telling me what to do kid," Harry was trembling with exhilaration but his gun-hand remained steady, the barrel focused precisely where he wanted it to be.

"You don't want to kill anyone," his hands were raised, latex gloves still slick with blood, hair tickling his eyes but he didn't dare jerk his head to move it "just-"

"Don't presume what I do and don't want to do," anger stained his voice, making it lower an octave as Harry all but growled at the blond man, eyes flashing dangerously "you haven't got a fucking clue what I want to do" his gun hand jerks treacherously.

"Okay!" Chase exclaimed, "Okay! I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Kid, you talk way too much,"

Chase frowned at Harry's gleeful leer and then the world exploded in pain.

* * *

O'Reilley was waiting as Cuddy stepped out of the elevator, and he was moving away at a pace that meant the administrator had to almost jog to keep up "SWAT and HRT have just got here," he said, gesturing at two uniformed officers to do something but Cuddy wasn't paying attention "we need to debrief and then I need to start evacuating people – Johnson with me!"

The uniformed officer scampered after the agent, practically stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness to obey. Cuddy almost grimaced in sympathy as his efforts went completely unnoticed and O'Reilley merely flipped open his phone, barking orders and stalking through the lobby with an arrogant sense of purpose that had her wanting feeling almost as exasperated as she did when she spoke to House.

"Doctor Cuddy!" O'Reilley called back "are you coming?"

She opened her mouth to fire him with a quick-witted reply about her not being one of his minions ergo his authority over her was non-existent unless her life was in immediate danger but she came up short and merely nodded. The sunlight that streamed through the doors of the hospital was idyllic and out of place, it felt wrong but she shrugged it off, squinting as she pushed through the large doors to catch up with the aloof FBI agent.

"Sarah Tanning," a pretty blonde woman said, ponytail swishing as she held out her hand for Cuddy to shake "negotiator,"

* * *

Pain, white hot and searing flew through his thigh, penetrating deep into the muscle and sending it into shocked spasms. He went to grip at it, an automatic response but a cry on his peripheral that may or may not have been his own made him stop. He was still wearing bloodied gloves, touching an open wound with hands covered in somebody else's blood was a million different sorts of wrong. His stomach was somersaulting and his eyes were squeezed shut, breathing labored as every medical-school taught reaction went out the window because _hot-damn_ _this hurt_.

"Do something with him,"

Chase could hear Harry's voice but couldn't trace where it was coming from, it was loud and harsh and that was, medically a good thing because that meant he wasn't losing consciousness, personally it was horrible. There was the sound of muttering, scuffling feet and then someone dropped down next to him but he couldn't tell who.

"Doctor Chase," the unmistakable Texan tones of Doctor Colson filled his ears "can you hear me?"

Chase was gritting his teeth and the prospect of releasing that tension was enough for him _not_ to do it. The screams had died in his throat the moment he'd hit the floor, there was no way he was going to break his subconscious vow of silence now.

"Robert, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand,"

There was some fiddling as the gloves were tugged off of the intensivist's hands and then Colson slipped his age-worn fingers into Chase's palm, and was grateful when he felt a firm pressure around the digits. He slipped his hand free and pulled on his own set of gloves from the pocket of his lab coat, peering at the wound on the younger man's leg, palpitating the surrounding area carefully, uttering nonsensical words he was far to accustomed to saying as the pressure caused Chase to let out a muffled cry of pain from behind bitten lips.

"Can I get some morphine over here?" Colson ordered gruffly "gauze, tape, bandages, surgical forceps… the whole shebang," his tone softened a little, barely perceptible but the reassuring squeeze of Chase's ankle coupled with it made it more noticeable "I'm not gonna lie to ya son," Colson drawled as the requested equipment, plus more, was placed by his side, a nurse already cutting up Chase's pant leg with clumsy chopping movements that hacked through the fabric; Colson picked up the forceps and grimaced at Chase; "this is gonna hurt like a son-of-a-bitch,"

* * *

Sarah was not a tall woman, five-two, five-three at most, blonde curls clasped in a ponytail at the back of her head, fringe delicate and tickling her neat eyebrows, blue eyes bright but intense, her handshake firm. She smiled at Cuddy somewhat sympathetically but professionalism seemed to exude out of every pore, she shot O'Reilley an odd look when he went to speak.

"What've we got here?" she asked, taking the bullet-proofed vest from a uniformed officer and giving O'Reilley an expectant look when he too was provided with one.

"We don't know much," O'Reilley began and Cuddy was glad to see he was cowed somewhat by this woman "the emergency room is under lockdown, a man seems to have taken those inside captive,"

"We gotten any communication from him yet?"

"No ma'am," he said curtly and looked monumentally irritated by having to do so.

"Wilkinson!" Sarah called out to a young man clambering out of SWAT van "hook me up to a line inside the ER,"

Wilkinson nodded and gave her a mock salute as he pulled on headphones and flipped open a laptop, tapping away.

"How many inside?" the negotiator turned back to the FBI agent.

"Undetermined," O'Reilley said "there was a bus crash this morning, the majority of casualties were sent in here though some were sent to Princeton General,"

Sarah nodded, her movements concise "estimation?"

"Impossible," Cuddy said "I sent extra staff down there this morning when the crash victims started being brought in, there's the usual staff and normal patients in there – hangovers, drunken fighters, domestic accidents…"

"Don't blame yourself for this one honey," Sarah cut her off at the pass, recognizing the dark haired woman's train of thought in an instant, "it's not your fault," her tone turned from gentle to commanding in half a second "Wilkinson have you got that line yet?"

* * *

He screamed. He knew he screamed because his throat felt like it had been ripped in two. Pain he had been expecting, he'd be warned and he _was_ a doctor, he knew even when someone said 'this won't hurt a bit' they were probably lying but this… They couldn't anaesthetize him because they didn't have enough equipment to monitor the vitals so they had to be able to know when it 'hurt' – though he was rapidly beginning to wonder how to determine the difference between agony, complete agony and oh-God-I-think-I-want-to-die agony, not to mention how he was supposed to communicate such a thing. What? One scream for 'hurts a bit', two for 'a lot' and three for 'I think you just severed a major artery'?

Besides, putting him under anaesthetic was an ultimately unwise decision given their current predicament; he needed to be awake, though how much use he could be if he could barely stand up, never mind string a cognitive sentence together he did not know.

"Easy Doctor," Gillespie's hand on his shoulder was firm and somewhat grounding, her face was blurry and for a moment.

Amongst the searing blaze of pain that was burning its way through his body he could pretend that the touch was someone else, the voice gentler, more lilting in its intonations. The solid grip on his shoulder looser, rubbing soothing circles, the smell of a faint perfume she would deny she wore wafting over his face as she leaned over him, eyes wide with concern, lips slightly parted as she fixed him with a steely gaze.

"Come on Doc," Colson said "I almost got it,"

If he wasn't bleeding out, he might be concerned about how much blood had rushed to his face at the fact he was made fully aware that he was thinking about Cameron, replacing Gillespie in his imagination with a woman who had informed him more than once that there relationship was nothing more than physical, something he had great difficulty believing because it wasn't supposed to be the men that fell for it, that started feeling more than they should. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but he was apparently the exception to that rule and fantasizing – admittedly in an entirely non-sexual way which could easily be passed off as a pain-induced desire fueled by familiarity – about her in the middle of this… was neither appropriate nor entirely moral.

"Dammit," Colson cursed "nothing to worry about Robert," he added in hurried after thought when he felt Chase tense under his fingers "the bullet's not hit any major arteries, ripped a mighty nice hole in ya muscle though – Gillespie I need something to soak up some of this blood,"

He was a _surgeon_ from crying out loud, an _intensivist_; the word 'blood' should not make him nauseas.

"That's it," Colson said several long moments later "just gotta stitch you up now. You'll be as good as new,"

Chase had to hand it to him; the guy was good at pretending there wasn't a crazed lunatic in the room.

* * *

"I can't get a connection ma'am," Wilkinson looked suitably rebuked, eyes wide and fixing on the young woman for a solution.

"What?" Sarah walked over, her boots tapping an arrhythmic beat on the asphalt "why not?"

Wilkinson demonstrated, dialing the number in, watching Sarah's face when nothing happened.

"Must have disconnected the phone line," O'Reilley surmised "there any other phones we can try?" he turned to Cuddy.

Cuddy blinked then shook her head when she realized all attention was on her "not unless we try one of their pagers,"

"Too risky," O'Reilley jumped in "if this dude's armed, which we're pretty sure he is, we can't risk contacting one of the hostages,"

Sarah seemed to mull it over for a second "Doctor Cuddy, who's the highest ranking member of the medical team in there?"

Who was down there? Gardiner, Colson, Abrahms… "Doctor David Gardiner, but-"

"You got his number?" Sarah's tone was succinct and too the point.

Cuddy shot O'Reilley a look but pulled out her cell anyway, scrolling through contacts until she found the right one, "here," she handed the phone over.

"Thank you," Sarah answered politely, passing the phone to Wilkinson.

* * *

Apparently 'good as new' was a relative term that was entirely subjective to one's definition. As far as Chase was concerned, 'good as new' would imply that his pant leg wasn't practically shredded and a thick wad of gauze and bandages would not be taped around his thigh, cushioning a sutured bullet bound. The very fact that morphine was only just really taking the edge of was enough of an indication that he was not, indeed, 'good as new' but far from it. Though arguably about as close as was possible under impromptu surgery and other less than pleasant circumstances.

Gillespie was sat by him, eyes watching him so carefully it would make him nervous were he not floating on the edge of dozing into a drug-induced slumber, pressing a second glass of water into his hand with the hushed encouragement to drink it 'slowly, mind'. He smiled weakly at her, somewhere between encouragement, thanks and a grimace. It wouldn't be long before the blur the drugs and pain had created would dissipate and he would be able to think more clearly, though to what end he was as yet unsure.

Colson looked like he wanted to say something but Harry kept sending them all warning looks and none of them were willing to push again. The little boy whose bag had been taken was sat on his mother's lap, crying softly, his mother mimicking the action somewhat reluctantly. Danny was just sat, staring straight at his girlfriend's bed, face devoid of all emotion and hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The silent was ominous and thick, teetering on the edge of fear and threatening to plunge into all out terror. A shrill sound erupted in the room, harsh and too loud in the quiet, and those willing to risk movement looked at one another in surprise and a detectable amount of fear; the sound was unmistakable.

Harry's gaze was intense and cold as it swept over them all, his jacket pulled around his folded knees as he sat with his arms hooked around bent knees against the adjacent walls. His face remained expressionless as he demanded in a dangerously quiet voice; "whose cell phone is that?"

_Author's Notes: End of chapter 7! As I said, sorry for the lack of updates but school's been… well hectic :P_


	8. Communiqué

Chapter 8: Communiqué

The atmosphere in the emergency room was almost crackling; the laboured breaths of those close to hysteria overlapped the hiss and whir of ventilators and heart monitors; the steady beeping rhythmic and absurdly soothing in the current circumstances. The piercing sound of the cell phone ringing sliced through the air like a knife, the blade sharp and glittering menacingly under the harsh over-head lights. Chase could feel his heart hammering in his chest though whether that was down to the whole-body shock of having surgery performed on the ER floor or because of the strident noise he couldn't tell. Gillespie's fists were tight in her lap, knuckles turning white as she stared at Harry with the same wide eyes everybody else in the room sported.

"I said," Harry's voice was low and his tone dangerously measured "whose cell phone is that?"

There was quiet for a moment, and although Harry was yet to make another move with his gun, all eyes were flicking between their captor's face and his weapon. Chase looked around, he felt a little light-headed, the world verging somewhere between clear and blurry so his eyes were straining to refocus something that wasn't unfocused to begin with. The wall behind his head felt cool, the chill of the plaster seeping through his coat and shirt and making him shudder; maybe he was going in to shock… wouldn't that just round everything off nicely? Somebody cleared their throat and Chase opened his eyes – not that he had been aware of closing them – and his vision tilted for a moment before righting itself, swallowing he searched the crowd for the person who had made the noise.

"It's uh… mine," Gardiner stood up, dark hair perfectly coiffed even as he pulled at his shirt collar, sweat beading on his forehead "I must have forgotten to um… here," he plucked the offending item out of his coat pocket, held it in the air so Harry could see it before laying it flat on the floor at his feet and backing away.

Harry gave Gardiner a treacherous look before gesturing loosely for him to sit down again; Gardiner let go a whoosh of air in relief. Moving at a leisurely pace, Harry walked over and picked up the still ringing phone, eyeing the caller ID warily; "who is it?" he demanded, his voice sharp and loud, making everyone jump.

"I don't know," Gardiner gabbled, shaking his head determinedly to back up his statement.

Harry raised an eyebrow before flicking the phone open "yeah?"

* * *

"We've got a line," Wilkinson announced "I'm dialling in…." he tapped a few more keys on his laptop, a few on the phone beside him before holding one of the earphones up to his ear as the dulcet drones of a dial tone reverberated from the speakers, the equalizer on the laptop screen flickering almost lazily.

"Yeah?" a voice replaced the dial tone, the buzz of silence that accompanied his voice made a lump form in Cuddy's stomach, like she'd just swallowed a rock.

Sarah scurried back over to the van, O'Reilley on her heels. She gave Cuddy a sincere look as she picked up the phone receiver and held it to her ear "hi," she said sweetly "my names Sarah. Sorry it took so long to get through to you, trying to find a phone that works…" she looked as if she was about to roll her eyes "who am I talking to here?"

There was a pause for a moment, then a gravelly voice intoned "Harry,"

"Thanks for talking to me Harry," Sarah repeated "Harry's a nice name by the way, means 'ruler' doesn't it?"

"Look lady, what do you want?"

"I'm a negotiator with the FBI," she said carefully "I'm just here to make sure everyone gets out of this unhurt. We've had some reports of a gun being fired, has anyone been shot?"

Harry was silent.

"Harry, come on buddy work with me here… I just need to know if anyone's been shot?" she gave O'Reilley a sharp look and he nodded before moving away.

"No,"

"He's lying," O'Reilley whispered harshly "I can hear him. Someone's been hurt,"

Sarah made a 'shush' motion with her hands "what about you Harry? You okay?"

"I've had better days," he said.

"That's a shame Harry that really is," she said "is there anything I can do to help? Do you need food or water or anything?"

There was a brief moment of silence "pizza," he said after a pause "plain,"

"Pizza? Got it. How many people are in there with you Harry?"

He ignored the question "a dozen plain pizzas. And I don't want no funny business either," then the line went dead.

* * *

"I don't understand," Judy said as the sides of her bed were slid into place, the IV bag was taken off the hook and laid next to her "what's going on? Where're you taking me?"

"You just need to relax Judy," Cameron said as calmly as she could "everything's going to be fine,"

"What's happening?" she demanded again as Foreman flicked the brake off the wheels on the bed and gestured for little Amber to follow them.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Foreman smiled as encouragingly as he could but he was pretty sure that if it looked even half as fake as he thought it did, there was little wonder that Judy's expression hadn't changed.

"Where's Doctor House?"

Cameron looked up "he's busy at the moment," she said softly, the gurney rattled as they moved down the corridor, heading for the elevator "everything's going to be fine," she smiled at Amber but it didn't reach her eyes.

Judy said nothing, apparently having come to terms with the fact she wasn't going to be given the information she so desired. She opened and closed her IV hand by her side, giving her daughter a meaningful look as two nurses took the gurney and boarded the elevator.

"What're we supposed to do?" Cameron asked as they made their way back down the corridor, the heels of her boots clipping on the floor as more beds and wheelchairs were pushed past.

"What do you mean?" Foreman frowned, glancing once at his colleague but diverting his gaze again almost instantly.

"We can't just ship everyone out,"

"It's not like we have a choice,"

"Don't you have dying people to go evacuate?" House said shortly as they entered his office, it became immediately apparent that he was not alone.

"I have people for that," Wilson fired back, mimicking his friend's entirely inappropriate sense of humour with a mild quirk of his eyebrows.

"Judy's being transferred to Princeton General," Cameron informed them.

Her whole body was thrumming; she could feel tremors shivering through her body and she jammed her hands into her coat pockets so as not to give herself away. The corridor outside was buzzing with activity as gurneys and beds were shifted as fast as possible down the hall towards the elevator and then either on through the lobby towards waiting ambulances or up to the roof for the helicopter to air-lift them out. The swift precision of the evacuation procedure made it seem almost unreal as doctors and nurses' soothed patient's worries but giving little or nothing away – as per the combined orders of Special Agent O'Reilley and Cuddy – so as to avoid mass hysteria. Whilst concealing the threat in the emergency room was mildly unethical, the consequences of telling patients whilst they were still in the building had the potential to get very ugly, very fast.

House nodded mutely as if paying something serious contemplation before he looked back up again "how's the treatment going?"

Cameron glanced at Foreman bewilderedly, the everyday casualness of that question paling in comparison to the severity of the events unfolding on the floors beneath them. It felt almost bizarre. As if she was stuck in some sort of hallucination except it was put on hold inside this room where nothing had happened, where the lives of hundreds of people weren't either at immediate risk of some lunatic or at risk by proxy. It was a strange sensation and she shook her head when she felt Foreman fix her with an odd look before replying;

"Probably too early to tell but she seems to be responding well," Foreman supplied "looks like Wilson was right,"

House was quiet for a moment, and Wilson presumed that it was the closest the diagnostician was going to get to admitting the fact. Although strictly speaking having two diseases was a medical rarity, it was not unheard of, and made half as surprising when one of those conditions was cancerous; at some point soon he would expect to be filing the transfer papers and adding Judy Bishop onto his list of patients to see. What concerned him the most however, was his friend's feigned ignorance to the situation at hand.

Foreman looked professional enough, but it didn't take a genius to make note of his anxiety, the nerves and the worry that marred the edge of each expression he sported and Cameron just looked… well he wasn't sure how to describe how Cameron looked. Like she had some sort of personal investment in this beyond the obvious, but it was hidden behind a thin veil of something he wasn't sure even she was willing to recognize existed. Maybe it wasn't anything, after all Cameron was an empathetic person, wearing her heart on her sleeve even when she, better than anyone, should know better; she felt morally compelled to do things that every so often seemed to keep House in check; it was hardly a shock to the system that the situation in the emergency room was affecting her. House however… it would worry the average person that House appeared completely unaffected – hell it worried him – but there were no tell-tale signs to give away what House was feeling or thinking or even about to think so it was, in fact, probably nothing to be overtly alarmed about. He refused to think about what was going through his own head.

* * *

"What's going on inside?" Sarah turned to O'Reilley as a uniformed officer scurried off to obtain the pizzas.

"I've got teams evacuating everyone who can be moved to Princeton General and various other reachable hospitals across the county," he answered almost smugly "the General hospital should be sending over the ambulances they can spare within the half hour. For now we've just got what was being used to transport bus crash victims and the helicopter shipping out every twenty minutes,"

Sarah nodded, swiping sweaty palms on her khaki pants, the bullet-proof vest, though necessary, was smothering "we better get some water as well,"

"We've got God-knows how many people stuck in there Tanning, and you're sending this guy supplies?"

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed "my job is to get everyone out of there alive, including the person responsible. If that means playing his game for a while, then I'm all for it," she glowered at him dangerously.

"There are injured people in there God-dammit! We can't just sit here and -"

"For Christ sakes O'Reilley, anyone would think you hadn't worked a hostage situation before! You're ex-marine I get it, but you can't just take this guy out! I know what I'm doing okay, now I'm sorry if that doesn't work with your trigger-happy, shoot-first-ask-questions-later approach but you're in charge of extrication and evacuation, I've got negotiation and I go first," she stood toe-to-toe with the taller man, glaring at him "the second this guy makes the wrong move, the _moment_ someone gets hurt then it's all yours, I'll quite happily hand you this whole thing but for now, you do as I say and you don't get in the way. Are we clear?"

O'Reilley stared at her, his fists clenched in his pockets, eyes darkening but he nodded mutely, muttering "crystal," from between gritted teeth, as if he'd rather be having a root canal that concede defeat to this woman.

Sarah watched him for a few minutes before breaking eye contact "Sampson, can we get some cases of bottled water over here ASAP?"

The African-American woman nodded, brown eyes earnest "absolutely boss,"

* * *

"I hope you guys like pizza," Harry leered at his captives, his smile lazy but the tight lines around his eyes laconic even as he observed the crowd with an obscure mirth that left Chase feeling uneasy.

No one said anything; the madness that clung to Harry's voice like a parasite, leaving his hostages reluctant to utter a word to either agree or disagree with him. It wasn't so dreamlike anymore, reality didn't hold the blur of nightmare, instead it clutched with skeletal fingers to the shreds of veracity, forcing the occupants of the ER to face things they'd rather not; the harsh awareness that this was real and the outside world nothing more than an ethereal fantasy. Everything that mattered was here, in this room, every sound, nuance and breath more important than the last; it shouldn't be like that, there should be other things but they didn't matter. The people outside, didn't matter, the voice on the phone, the soft light that filtered through the windows from behind the blinds didn't matter; what mattered was only what could be seen, heard and touched; hope couldn't fix this, prayer wouldn't make it better.

The pain in his leg was dissipating into a dull throb that thrummed up his leg and into the rest of his body, his foot felt almost numb and the last shot of morphine had Chase fighting to keep his eyes open, forcing the bleary world into some semblance of focus. Soon he might be able to stand again, his body adapting to the loss of blood, the adrenalin rush and the enormity of the situation, adapting to its new limitations as quickly and easily as – to coin a well used anecdote – a duck to water. The thought of food made his stomach turn but he knew he'd need to eat something soon. With no IV and no steady supply of fluids the pain meds would soon start causing side-effects which, although trivial, would be entirely avoidable. Nevertheless, all the medical jargon in the world couldn't force his queasy stomach to agree with him.

"You guys should feel honoured," Harry slouched against the wall again, propping himself up with one foot "they got the FBI out there, HRT, the whole caboodle," he positioned himself carefully, peering out through a crack in the window coverings "mind you," he continued, far more articulate than before, which was, for some reason, far more unnerving than a captor hopped up on smack "most of that lot's here for my ass, not you lots',"

* * *

"I'm outside Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey and the atmosphere is absolutely intense. Behind me you can see a throng of activity, police cordons are keeping civilian onlookers back as the FBI try frantically to negotiate with the hostage taker or hostage _takers_ whom we presume to be inside the emergency room building," camera-perfect curls bobbing, the pretty young reporter focussed resolutely on the lens as the cameraman steadied the instrument, zooming in at appropriate moments and scanning the base of operations as he followed the woman under the police tape; "it is unknown how many people have been taken hostage and police and FBI are working alongside each other to evacuate all the staff and patients in the rest of the building-"

"Hey!" the police officer exclaimed, eyes wide as he hurried across the parking lot "you need to get back ma'am,"

"Excuse me, could you tell us what's going on in there?" she held out her microphone politely, giving the man an expectant look.

"No comment," he said tersely, shooting her a short look "I need you to step back please miss,"

"Has there been any communication with the people who pulled this off?"

"Ma'am please, you need to-"

"Is there a problem over here?" another man approached; his suit pristine and his expression severe.

"Sir, you must be with the FBI, can you comment on the situation at hand?"

"Ms…?"

"Angela Harrison," she supplied sweetly.

"Ms. Harrison, you and your assistant need to step back behind the police line so we can do our jobs,"

"Agent…?" she mimicked his earlier gesture and gave him an expectant look.

"Ms. Harrison if you don't move back behind the cordon I am going to have to take you into custody for disturbing an FBI investigation,"

Apparently unwilling to put her freedom on the line for the sake of her article the reporter gave a short, sarcastic nod and gestured for her cameraman to follow her back behind the cordon. She was jostled by shifting crowd members as they called and shouted for some sort of explanation as to what was going on. Blue lights flashed as ambulances pulled out from behind the cordon, the tides of people splitting to allow the vehicle past.

"Damn reporters," O'Reilley muttered watching the redhead flounce away "like ants on a frigging picnic."

_Author's Notes: Not a very long chapter but I hope you enjoyed it all the same XD don't forget to review!!! :)_


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